


A Family for the End of the World

by livelovelaw



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Apocalypse, F/M, M/M, Murder, No Beta, Post-Apocalypse, Violence, but not of people, finding happiness in a cruel world, just a fucked up mind, lots of them - Freeform, maybe people, planets are countries, tags will be updated as I go, this is fucked up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:28:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29629785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livelovelaw/pseuds/livelovelaw
Summary: My daddy is a killer. My mother, even more so. When they first met, they tried to kill each other. Well, mommy tried to stab daddy but he punched her in the face. But, all is well now!I have an aunt too! She’s gentle and sweet but she will kill you too if need be. My aunt has a lover, my uncle. He is smart and good with guns, especially those long ones with the telescope things. I have two other uncles and they will fuck you up too (don’t tell daddy I cursed, please and thank you!)I have a grandpa, although he hates it when I call him that. But he is grandpa because he has white hair already. Anyway, grandpa, just like daddy, is strong (but daddy’s stronger). Grandpa has a son. My cousin, I think. I’m not sure about this, I have to ask daddy first. My cousin is cute but he, just like me, is too young to kill.I don’t know how many more family members I have but the bigger the better, right?I’m Luna Solo, I’m turning six now.Do you think the adults are okay? It doesn’t matter. I still love them.Would you like to know about my family?
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico, Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda & Luke Skywalker, Kylo Ren/Rey, Poe Dameron/Finn, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	A Family for the End of the World

Rey knew that the first light of day dawned even with her eyes closed. It was the change of temperature, slowly and steadily creeping on her limbs until it bursts to warm her skin. It was the change of the undertones of the sky, a colorcast of black, dark blue, and purple, then a gentle yellow flare that peeks even with her eyes shut. It was the tickling of the wind, mildly cool and fresh, that came with the golden rays of sunlight. It was that kind of morning, she knew. Beautiful, pristine - the type where the sun, and everything that came with its irradiation combines into something close to perfection. 

She sprawled her arms and legs like starfish on a futon. Her eyes, which she never bothered to adjust in the light, were wide open as she stared at the persistent water stain on the ceiling - the one which she thought was growing in size every time she laid eyes on it. If perfect mornings existed, then – 

There was a sudden thought that crossed her mind. She raised an arm, blatantly disregarding the sight of how thin it has become; palms faced the ceiling with fingers spread wide open. She gritted her teeth in pure effort, finally manifesting out loud the thought swirling in her head. "Fall." She commanded the wooden planks as she curled her hand into a ball of fist, only to forcibly pull down the skinny appendage towards her chest. 

Nothing happened, which prompted a sigh to escape her lips. If perfect mornings existed, then this mold-filled, deteriorating planks above her should have caved in. If it fell down to smash her body while she sleeps, or pretends to sleep, whilst burying her deep in the rubble, then she would sing praises. But despite her heartfelt command, the pieces of wood, which dangerously wanted to collapse above her, persistently didn't. It was still hanging on, and it frustrated her. She scoffed to herself after. It was such a ridiculous idea but it was worth the effort.

When staring at the ceiling finally bored her, she took her gaze above her futon. Her eyes begrudgingly stared at the cans and plastic wrappers of food products which lay discarded on the floor, an action which she was already regretting. She didn't need the reminder but as if on cue, a sudden piercing pain shot through the center of her chest. She breathed deep to dispel it, but the pain only radiated towards her throat that it left her with no other choice but to confront it. 

She is starving, that is a fact. And yet, she had no motivation whatsoever to move. She would have stayed catatonically on her futon and wait for the hunger pains to die down but she wasn't sure if her body can keep up with it any longer. How long since she last eaten? It was even tiring to think about it due to the ache in her chest. The pain has become unbearable now, and every now and then there is an intermittent urge to vomit. At one point, she actually hurled and whatever remains in her stomach burned her throat. With clenching teeth, she kept her lips shut, swallowing the bitterness that spread throughout her mouth. Disgusting, was her initial thought, as both the involuntary and forcible actions she has done with her esophagus made her eyes prickle with tears. But it was either keeping the bile inside her body or dirtying her already dirtied futon. Not that her bed was worth saving but she chose the former. 

Shit, she thought. Unless she wants to die, she really needs to eat. She took one last gaze to the ceiling before forcing herself to stand up. Funny, wasn't she just wishing for the floor above her to crush her to death? She shrugged. Dying from hunger is different. She already knew that.

She grabbed her backpack from the floor, safely clasping it behind her back. It was not a bad day for a grocery run anyway, so she might as well do it, even begrudgingly. With heavy steps, she marched towards the first floor of the house. She maneuvered herself, lazily avoiding the trashed furniture unruly blocking her path to the living room. She instantly found him, sitting on that same damned couch situated nearest the opening of the kitchen.

"Oi, Kevin." She kicked the foot of the couch where he sat to alert him. "If that second floor doesn't fall tonight, you're going to have to leave." She crossed her arms. 

She stared at Kevin, eye to eye, squinting impatiently as she waited for an answer. Kevin lay silent. If there was anything, his jaw fell as a response. Kevin wasn’t much of talker so she raised a brow, slightly surprised at his reaction. Turning, she waved to say goodbye. "Whatever. See you later, Kevin."

She treaded in silence, leaping on the same fallen furniture and made her way towards the front door. Her eyes automatically scanned the porch, then to the lawn where she haphazardly parked her vehicle askew. She shrugged when she noticed nothing out of the ordinary, so she casually entered her vehicle and ignited the engine. Her engine started with a heavy screeching sound, followed by an intense sputtering as if warning her that it was about to die. About to die, but not yet dead, so it was nothing unusual. When the sputtering faded, the noise turned into a silent hum, followed by an intermittent crackling that didn't last for more than she expected. 

She slapped the steering wheel to congratulate the motor vehicle. But her eyes widened suddenly, for there was an unknown rumbling that followed immediately. It was deep, loud, and violent that she thought thunder was booming beside her. She searched where the noise was coming from; hands planted on her car seat to gauge if her car finally decided to explode beneath her. It wasn't. It didn't. Instead, she saw her house, well, Kevin's house, shaking.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" She found herself leaping out her vehicle. 

"Damn it, Kevin! I said tonight. TONIGHT!" She screamed in frustration as she watched a cloud of smoke rise. The roof of Kevin's house caved in an instant, bringing the whole structure down. 

She gritted her teeth at that. Great, the second floor decided to collapse – just without her in it. 

“God damn it, Kevin!” She cursed. 

She can't even trust a fucking corpse.

\--

It was hours’ end of silent driving. Her destination, to wherever. Now that Kevin's house is nothing but rubble, her previous plan of a grocery run was out of the question. She may still continue with the task but being unable to return to that suburb, finding another place to stay for the night was top priority.

She gripped her steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. At the outset, she blamed everything to Kevin. But then again, she did threaten to kick him out if the house didn’t collapse, so that's on her. 

"You never wanted to leave, huh, Kevin?" She whispered to herself. 

She sighed, remembering the first time she found him silently sitting still on his couch. He was just a random corpse. A body decaying to a degree that all was left underneath his clothes were bones. A carcass, but nevertheless a carcass with a very nice house. On the base of his jaw was a hole, the entry wound, she initially thought judging by the exit wound on his left cheek. It was clear that he ended his life with a bullet to the jaw. To her disappointment though, the weapon he used was no longer found in his person. Someone beat her to it, but it wasn't really regrettable. 

She didn't mind him the first few weeks she was there. He was just another corpse, and a dead body was the least dangerous thing you would encounter this time of age. He wasn’t a threat, so she left him be; until she couldn't no longer stomach the silence. She was a stranger; a trespasser; a usurper, and she hated that he was having no qualms with it. She didn't even know his name and so, she graciously gave him one – Kevin – just so they could get to know each other. She found herself talking to him immediately after that introduction. A few weeks later, they were friends. Almost a month in his house, Kevin was already family. 

"Fuck," she cursed. "I'm sorry, Kevin. I didn't mean it." She rested her head on the top of her steering wheel, wallowing with gut wrenching guilt. If she didn't shout at Kevin, maybe he wouldn't literally bring the house down without her in it. 

She shrugged, raising her head in the process. Whatever, she thought. There is no point in wallowing. She'll just find another corpse to befriend; or another dead man to call family. She’ll find another Kevin on the next town over. Somewhere. Anywhere, really. There are a lot of places to find one anyway –

"Motherfucking cunt!" Her scream was dampened by the sound of her tires screeching. She floored her brakes a second too late, and the next thing she knew she had lost control. Her car skid. She was in the air; her whole back slamming towards the ceiling of her vehicle. All of a sudden, everything turned black.

She didn't know how long she had been unconscious, or whether or not she has suffered a concussion in the process. Everything was hazy. She had trouble focusing. There was nothing else but pain – dull and pulsating, and yet radiating from the top of her head, neck, and basically all over her body. Her face was wet; drenched, by what she figured was blood. It was blood, based on the iron that she tasted on her mouth. She tried to either cough it out or shut her mouth, just to not choke on it but her position proved it difficult to do either. She was upside down, and so was her car. She tried to move, but with her body contorted into a position she wasn't even exactly aware of, she barely had a chance to do it. She blinked; once, twice, just to wrap her head on what to do next. It was later that she realized that one of her knees was planted on the center of the steering wheel, and her car was honking endlessly. The sound, or the possible repercussions of the sound, finally brought her to her senses. 

"Shit, shit, shit." She cried. She bent her knee closer to her face, finally ending the noise she unintentionally made. Almost immediately, her hands flimsily found the latch of her door. Her door creaked loudly but irritatingly unwilling to budge on her first attempt. 

"C'mon," she pleaded as she used her elbows to push. It was probably her luck, the severity of the crash, or the fact that her car was garbage, but the door actually separated itself from the rest of the car. She squirmed, angling her body carefully. Her buttocks found the egress first and she wiggled the rest immediately. Thankfully, with ease. She was on all fours when she made it out of her car – still in one piece. More importantly, aside from her bleeding forehead, there were no life threatening injuries. 

Motherfucking cunt, she thought to herself once more. How the fuck is she still able to move? 

She didn’t ponder on the thought that much. There are more important matters that needed to be recognized. Case in point, the anger that’s been brewing ever since she realized that her car just turned upside down. 

"Where the fuck are you?" She roared, clenching her teeth as she remembered. She crawled back to her car to grab her knapsack on the passenger seat, literally shrieking in untamed rage. The sound she made morphed into something more terrible – annoying, louder; one made in purest frustration when one of the straps of her bag got stuck on the gear shift. 

"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!" Vexed, she roared. "Where are you? You miserable cunt!" 

She was pathetically thrown off towards the concrete when her bag decided to let go of the gear shift. She rolled, landing on her buttocks but the rage had been blinding to think of anything else. She didn't care if the rest of her important tools were scattered on the ground, all she needed was her hammer. 

Her target was already on the ground, the lower half of her body severed because of the collision. Yet, it didn't matter to her that body in question had no fighting chance. The only thing that she saw through her boiling rage is that it was still moving; crawling and dragging the rest of its mangled upper body towards her. 

She gripped the handle of her weapon until her nails dug in her palms. She blamed this stranger for blocking the road. It was this thing's fault – a woman, based on the torn and muddy skirt she wore, that caused her to slam on her brakes. It was this fucker which made her lose control, only to crash towards the military blockade that blocked entry towards – where is she even? 

It didn’t matter for she charged; hands gripping her hammer with all her might until its cold steel collided with flesh. The impact resulted to bits and pieces of body parts splattering everywhere. She wasn’t satisfied, still. She turned her hammer, only to use its clawed end to deliver more blows. Bits and pieces ricocheted; blood, or what used to be blood, blotching her face. She grunted in disgust, but it never stopped her from doing it again. Again, and again, until there was nothing left but a crushed head. She finally ceased when her hammer hit the concrete, and a wave of vibrations pulsated towards her hands. Her body trembled with it, and all the adrenaline that fueled her rage crashed down. Her legs shook as her energy was spent, leaving her lying down on her back beside the woman whose head she just bludgeoned. 

When all of her rage had disappeared because the catharsis, she turned to her side. She slipped an arm underneath her head comfortably, wanting to strike a conversation. She inhaled through her teeth, feeling a little bit nervous. She hasn’t talked to anyone else than Kevin. She felt a little awkward; shy even. “I’m sorry about your head.” She immediately apologized.

“I’m Rey.” Letting go of her hammer, she extended her arm for a hand shake.

The headless woman did not move, so she figured it was her cue to continue. "Kevin had a name. Maybe I should call you something too. What do you think?" 

Blood only sputtered from the neck of the woman she just beaten to oblivion. It was a form of consent, she thinks, so she continued. "Maybe, Karen?"

Silence.

"Hmm. You like it?" She smiled to herself.

Blood squirted some more.

"Yeah, I know. I know. I crushed your head. That’s because you were in the middle of the road, idiot." She shrugged and paused. 

She rolled her eyes soon, irritation creeping on her skin because of Karen’s unresponsiveness. "Well, fuck you too, Karen." She hissed. “I’m taking back that apology.” 

With the blood on Karen’s neck finally stopping to spill on the concrete, silence befell on them once again. This time, Rey laid on her back, squinting to protect her eyes from the sun above. She congratulated herself in silence, thinking that It’s not even past noon and she already made a new friend. 

“How about that, Kevin?” She said. 

“I know that, Kevin.” She continued. Karen’s not the type of friend to keep. Karen made her lose her only mode of transportation. She should be hating her guts. 

“What about an acquaintance, Kevin?” She blurted. Soon, she found herself nodding in agreement. “Yeah. Maybe an acquaintance. That’s not so bad too.” 

"Oh? What's that, Karen?" She suddenly gasped in faux surprise towards her new aquaintance. 

"Did you just say gasoline?" She sat up, raising a brow. Her nose did recognize the familiar and dangerous smell of gasoline. She was close to her car, recklessly so, but she chose not to move. 

She grinned, glancing at Karen as she lay back relaxed on the concrete. “If I die, then we’re even. What do you say, Karen?”

\--

The scorching heat radiating from her car had been too much to bear. It has been too long since she had waited for the great kaboom: the massive and theatrical explosion that would leave her car, along with her and Karen, into torched debris. Her vehicle was ablaze, sure. The flammable liquid spread and somewhere a spark originated, triggering flames to crawl and vaporize the liquid until it reached her gas tank and – burned. 

She scratched her head in disappointment upon remembering the crucial detail that gasoline, while flammable, does not cause any explosion. She’s not in the movies; and if there were indeed exploding cars, it was probably due to diesel engines or unrealistically, jet fuel (in cars) or even computer animation.

“Great, Karen. Just great.” She breathed one syllable too long, whining before curling her abdomen to sit up once more. It was a tiny late realization too, that the after effects arising from her accident was unraveling before her very eyes. A collective of Karens, although she doesn’t think it was appropriate to lump them in one female name but whatever, she’ll call them whatever she likes, were being attracted to the continuous crackling of the flames. Couple that with the rather long honking noise she unintentionally created a while ago, it wouldn’t take long before the main thoroughfare is overwhelmed. She could have, for the hell of it, bludgeon them on the head one by one. But it was a task too tiring to do alone. 

She inhaled, deeper than she ever had before. Great, she whined to herself. She needed to run once again. 

\--

Running was the first and only course of action now. But the sun is too close to setting, and she hasn’t seen anything but the endless sight of towering pine trees. Based on the sign behind the military blockade, she was in Chandrila – a place which she knows nothing about. The location is probably on her map. The map which, along with the rest of her things required for survival, were on her backpack. That same backpack which she haphazardly discarded in rage beside her car. Thus, in all probability, that backpack was now burned into crisps. That’s her theory, although she did not bother to check. In fact, she didn’t remember she had a bag until she thought of the need to use a flashlight.

She heaved; chest expanding magnanimously, that the sudden intake of oxygen left her choking and coughing the excess air. The sides of her back were then pierced with pain, like an overly large needle stabbed each of her lungs. She’s been running for hours’ end with minimal rest, and she can no longer prevent her body when it told her to rest. Her legs were trembling now, and despite her palms planting on her knees for support, her whole body was on the soft grass before she knew it.

She glanced to the sky, and judging from the cloud of smoke that continued to rise despite the tallest green, she knew avoiding the highway was the correct decision. Truth be told, however, she should have stayed close parallel to the road if she didn’t want to lose her way. She did, initially, but before she knew it, she was changing her direction; running deep towards the forest which the road had cut. 

Now, she is lost. But by all intents and purposes, with the setting sun, along with the endless vast of trees, there is no other choice but to continue. She had no idea how far these Karens have wandered from the highway. She might have outrun those but she didn’t know if a forest this wide is Karen territory. In the highest probability, she might meet one, just behind those trees that seem to darken as the day went on. The problem is, there are a lot of fucking trees and she only has two eyes. 

It might have been the eerie silence or the threat of the night blinding her sight, but right now, she knew the forest was playing tricks on her mind. Whatever it was, it was petrifying enough. Raising herself, she clutched her hammer tight; holding it to a position where a full strength swing would come at ease. Just in case, her instincts told her. Although she prayed that there would be no need for it.

She should have known that she was wasting her time by talking to the divine, for there was a snapping sound that alerted her senses. A branch broke just a few meters on her right, as if someone or something have stepped on it. She turned towards the direction in haste, trying to disregard the loud pounding inside her chest. It was peculiar that she was nervous. After all, she knew what to expect. 

She waited in caution, adjusting her legs to supplement the force of an upcoming swing. But there was nothing on her right. No rustling or scurrying; no snarling. But a branch snapped again, this time, behind her. She turned to the source of the sound once more.

Patience was her strongest suit, that she thought when she was younger. And in this forest, where she couldn’t cover the entire area alone, patience would have proven itself useful. No one will watch her back, so it was best to wait. But now, she has unlearned that trait in exchange for boiling rage. She didn’t want to wait in this terrifying lush of green. 

Noise attracts Karens, so might as well. “Come.” She roared.

From her peripheral, she saw something appear on her left. Sliding one of her foot, she pivoted; gripping and hurling her arms to her side with every intention to smash. 

Oh.

She stared frozen at the sight of a very familiar little girl. Just like how she left her in Tatooine, the Lilly that appeared before her did not change one bit. Everything about her was a mess: her short blond hair was unruly sticking all over her head, strands even blocking half of her face. The shirt of her bunny pajamas was torn on the shoulder, while the left side of her trousers were pulled down, revealing part of her underwear; also, adorably still with small rabbit patterns. Her eyes then trailed to her feet. The little girl did not have shoes on; walking barefoot, just how she remembered. 

She opened her mouth, wanting to strike a conversation. She wanted to say a lot of things but her lips merely trembled, and nothing came out of it. She swallowed, the saliva on her throat nearly making her choke. How is it that with Kevin and Karen, it had all been too easy? Kevin and Karen were strangers. She wondered why she finds it difficult to speak with someone she actually knew. They have the same last name. She was a Kenobi just like her, despite the lack of a blood connection.

She tried to find the courage – of wanting to speak, or wanting to run towards her precious little sister. To hug, to kiss, to smile; anything really, of the mundane, sometimes taken for granted things that family members do. Despite all of her intentions, she couldn’t. She found herself turning; bringing her gaze away from the little girl. The next thing she knew; she was running. 

She needed to get away from her.

She didn’t know how many times she fell down, or how many times was she accidentally hit by a renegade branch in the face. Hell, she didn’t even know how she was still able to run. All she knows is that she is. She lost her weapon in the process, dropping it somewhere out there because of her panic.

She wasn’t real, she knew. Lily, she can’t be here in Chandrila. It was everything around her that is making her imagine things: the humungous forest, the eerie silence, the terrifying darkness. And yet, she was there. Solid and clear as she can be. 

Lily was there.

Snapping her eyes shut, she gritted her teeth. No, she convinced herself. Lily died in Tatooine. No, she murdered Lily in Tatooine. 

How many times did she stab the three-year old with a kitchen knife? 

How many times until she was satisfied? How many times until she felt sheer relief that she was no longer moving?

How many times until she felt no remorse; that the mere act of plunging the knife to her littler body felt nothing more but a mechanical act?

How many times until she couldn’t recognize Lily’s body anymore?

She butchered her like swine until her insides fell out. 

She remembered, clear as day, that stabbing the body wasn’t enough. You have to aim for the head, which, during that scuffle, she accidentally did. And it instantly ended. Lily stopped moving.

Lily was a guinea pig – a matter of trial and error on how she learned how to kill those things – the Karens. The knowledge she gained – the power of being able to fight the rest of her reanimated family, was at the expense of butchering her little sister. 

She caught herself cackling; maniacally, loudly, until her throat burned and her insides coiled. It felt like she was being punched multiple times in the gut but she laughed it off, nevertheless. She wondered if it was indeed funny, but she couldn’t stop even if she wanted to. Her chest began to hurt. Her head was pounding that it felt like it was going to explode. Everything in her body hurts. She found herself having difficulty breathing, but she couldn’t resist. She was still laughing.

She tripped, rolled and laughed. Stood up, ran, and laughed some more. She lost her footing when a renegade branch hit her straight in the face. She tumbled, rolling down towards the foot of an unknown hill all while laughing hysterically. She landed chin first; head submerged into some kind of liquid. She screamed, the sound being muffled by the water. In the end, the laughter she conjured had been replaced with tears. She wailed, and wailed in the water until she could no longer breathe – until she was forced to lift her head to heave for air. 

She didn’t even notice the she landed on a riverbed until her upper body skidded through it. Neither did she see the two story house situated across it until her fall finally knocked her into a false state of calm.

\--

It was a mirage, she thinks. Just like Lily, the house was another trick conjured by her mind. An illusion of some sorts, one that is making her believe in the pretense of miracles. There are no miracles in this world. Just death, and some more death.

She tried to fight the idea that the house was real. Yet for some reason, she found herself crossing the river; already thanking the unknown gods that the current wasn’t strong, neither was the water too deep. 

If she was thinking straight; instinct would have told her to tread silently. At the back of her head, a creaking of the wood would be a giveaway. But she didn’t watch her every step as she walked towards the porch. It wasn’t real, the thought swirled in her mind persistently. When she was able to physically hold the door knob, the realization dawned to her like lighting. 

The house was real? 

By the time she thought of possible consequences of her surreptitious entry, it had already been too late. She made too much noise. If it was occupied, death is certain. But there weren’t any lights whether inside or outside the house. Or maybe she should check on the windows first? She should have some sort of plan, right? But she thought of the forest. She thought of Lily. She didn’t want to see her again in the darkness. She chose to open the door instead, and braced. 

No one. 

Oh, okay, she thought. But she wasn’t quite satisfied yet. She remembered that she had a remaining weapon in her person. She crouched, taking out a knife from her boot to bring it to level her chest. She gulped as she paced towards what seemed to be the living room. She tapped her feet quietly in the darkness, gauging if there are any furniture haphazardly thrown out of place, just like that of Kevin’s house. 

Clean, orderly, and highly suspicious, her mind supplied. There should be a Karen somewhere, if not, a survivor just like her. Her mind raced at the thought. A number of stupid Karens, she can handle, but another living person, she’s not sure. Her lack of rest and sustenance would be detrimental. With her heart hammering on her chest, she proceeded to check the first floor, nevertheless. 

In towards what she thought as the kitchen, then to another room. She felt no presence; Karen or living. Returning towards the living room, she decided to climb up the second floor. As she reached the last level of the stairs, she watched for movement above. 

The second floor was less spacious than Kevin’s. Upon the end of the steps, there is a room immediately to the left. She turned the knob slowly. It was locked. She breathed in relief at that. Next was a room just across it, and then towards her back, was a long hallway. At the end of the hallway, was nothing more but a window. 

She gripped her knife in anticipation for the last unchecked room. She wished it was locked, just like the previous one, but if there is someone indeed in this house, they’ll be hiding in this very room. True to her suspicions, she found the door unlocked. So, instead of walking directly, she lifted her feet to kick the door open, before backing away from the door towards the left side of the wall. She waited for someone to come out but no one did. It made her inhale through her teeth. It’s now or never, she thought, as she charged towards the room.

Empty.

She felt her shoulders relax; the breath she didn’t know she was holding finally found its way out of her nose. She turned towards the door, thinking that she finally found a place to rest for the night, and regain what was left of her sane mind. 

“Move, and I’ll put a bullet in your head.” Is what she found instead.

\---

It was an intense staring match, one that she thought she wouldn’t be able to do because of the darkness. But there was no darkness in this particular room of this humble abode. There was light from a bulb – a yellow one – that illuminated above her.

It was a rare feat that despite all these years, a house still has electricity. If her memories served her right, electricity, water, gas for heat, and even internet connection was out by the sixth month of the devastation. But in whatever ways this domicile still has the necessities required for basic living was quite irrelevant. Especially now when there is a gun pointed directly at her forehead.

The stranger, who had been so kind to turn on the light, had not backed down with their staring match either. He was silent throughout its duration, while his hand was steady and unmoving. 

At the outset, his lack of action didn’t sit right with her.

“Who are you?” He asked.

Oh, the man speaks once again, she thought. A voice of a nice baritone, she acknowledged; low and deep, even luscious if only he wasn’t threatening her at gunpoint. But seriously though, despite it, the words coming out of his perpetually pouting mouth was the most irrelevant thing she heard in years.

She tilted her head to the side, which made his weapon wielding arm follow threateningly. He was big, that she can observe despite the barrel of the gun blocking her vantage point. He was relatively taller than her by far. Half a foot or so, but it wasn’t an important factor. Her problem was his body. He is built like a fucking truck; all freaking muscle. How, she thought, was he able to retain his body mass like that? Three years in this hell, and she barely even had the chance to eat a full meal. She wondered at that, but his hands gripped the firearm tighter, and she realized that his palm was large enough to engulf its handle. She imagined them curling into fists. If he punches her, then she’s a fucking goner. But he wouldn’t do that, she thinks. He has a gun. Which, in all probably, he should be using right now. 

She wondered why he still haven’t fired. Although she had a vague idea as to why.

From the barrel of the gun, she brought her attention towards his face. He was staring right at her with black intense eyes; tired ones, she knew. Sleepless too, judging from the way the skin underneath his black orbs were swollen, puffy and darker than the rest of his pale face. Even so, if looks could kill though, she would probably be dead even before he had the chance to fire his weapon. But it wasn’t just his eyes which were intense. Everything in his facial features screamed intensity. Nose too long; lips, thick and plump. And not to mention that shoulder length, wavy, raven locks that framed his long face.

She resisted the urge to flinch upon her last observation. His black hair was beautiful. Where the fuck does he even get the time to acquire shampoo? But whatever, it doesn’t really matter. 

What she wondered is why he still hasn’t blown her brains out. She didn’t know if he was naïve, or just plainly curious in asking who she was. In this time of age, was that question really necessary? But judging on why she’s still alive, this stranger is basically naïve. He may have remained in this house for too long for his own good. Too soft – sheltered away from both the aftermath of the sickness, and the propensity of strangers for plain murder. Or maybe, he still hasn’t fired because in reality, there is no bullet in that gun. Three years in this hell hole, they are bound to run out. 

Whatever, she thought. She knew what she needed to do. 

Without any hesitation, she swiftly lifted a hand, swatting the gun away from her face. It didn’t fire on her movement, more or less proving her theory. She followed through immediately with a curled elbow, which she used to smack him directly on the throat. He stupidly choked at that, and with his focus away from his grip of his gun, she pulled his forearm with her left hand, while her right arm curled to plummet her elbow through the crevice of his inner arm. His weapon fell on impact, and he leaped backwards, both arms raised to block his face.

This is all too easy, she thought. He can’t even put those nice muscles into good use. Soft piece of shit, she gritted her teeth.

She responded with a fighting stance of her own, smirking because after all, she has the upper hand. She had her own weapon in her right hand. She took a swing with her knife, which he led him to retract his upper body. His back slammed on the wall nearest to the door. With him trapped, she held the weapon with both her hands to impale him directly on the chest.

To her surprise, he was able to counter it. With pure brute strength, he was able to catch her wrist and prevent her from plunging the knife towards his body. She pushed further, in as much as he was pushing back. In an instant, one of her hands removed itself from the handle of her knife, towards its base, only to use it to hammer the hilt further down. She didn’t know if it was the correct move, but that short period where her force was lessened, they were already struggling for possession of the weapon. Their bodies swayed, left to right, like a dangerous dance, until one of his hands let go.

The fucker, of course, was stronger. Even with only one of his hand gripping her wrist, she could not wrestle away. She saw him curl his free hand but she stubbornly wouldn’t let go of her knife. She decided to brace for the oncoming punch.

His fist landed on the side of her stomach, and she wheezed. Frankly, she forgot her initial thought that a blow or kick from to her person would end her. She nearly fell, but her feet dug deep on the floor. She thought of Lily – the rest of the orphanage; her family. If she dies now, then what’s the point of butchering her family? But didn’t she desperately want to die twice in a day already? She didn’t know her motives on why she was even fighting now. She just gritted her teeth and braced. 

She thought of letting go of her knife would make her lose her advantage, but she wouldn’t win this way. With his inertia on its full swing to her left, she let go of her weapon, causing the lack of returning force to lead him towards the ground. With the littlest pull to his luscious, stupid, long hair, he was down on the ground face first. With no time to waste, she pivoted her leg, sprinting towards his back. Screw her thin arms but she placed him to a hold anyway; locking his throat in between her arms.

He wheezed, dropping her knife. In an attempt to free himself, he tried to use his elbow to strike her once more in her stomach. He was successful on the first few attempts, the pain radiating so much more than she can handle. But his force had become weaker as her choke lasted longer. Before she knew it, they were on the ground; her legs locking his torso, and his feet were sliding on the floor as he desperately struggled to breathe. 

Just a little more, she thought as she held onto his neck. She didn’t know what happened next, but despite her hold on every inch of his body, she was being dragged backwards. Her back slammed on the wall after, and the pain made her lose her hold on his throat. Exactly how his hands got its clutches on the back of her shirt was lost to her. In an instant, she was flying; being thrown off in the air like she weighed nothing. She landed back first towards the floor, and her eyes literally was short of seeing stars.

What the fuck did he just do? She would have asked, but she wheezed in pain, coughing and choking like he literally took away her ability to breathe. She barely had the strength to move, struggling even to roll on her stomach. 

The last remnants of her adrenaline shot all over her body at the sight of her knife lying just a few inches from her face. She took it without hesitation, and she looked back to find him charging like a raging bull once more. With the position he was in, she was sure as hell that he will tackle her back to the ground. As fast as she could, she turned to her side. She braced her shoulders towards the incoming truck of a man. It was luck, probably, that her shoulders hit him square on the jaw. The force sent him on the ground, back squawking loudly. Without a second to waste, she was on top of him; thighs locking his torso once again to pin him further to the ground. She lifted her hands; both gripping her knife to stab him right in between the eyes. 

She found herself stopping suddenly; teeth clenching in regret that she wasn’t fast enough. The tip of her blade was already making his pale skin bleed, and yet moving will the biggest gamble she would make. She felt cold steel on her chest and for some reason, the theory she haughtily believed just minutes back fizzled into nothing. 

He had his gun on her heart; pointing finger, curling steadily on the trigger. 

She had her blade right between his eyes, just right above the bridge of his long nose. 

Both remained unmoving; breathing steadily in unison while in cold calculation on figuring out what the other person would do next. They can only stare at each other, as they waited. His eyes were intense, that she knew already. Brave, fierce, and desperate, she saw.

The longer they held their gazes, the more confused she became. The desperation in his eyes meant something else, she recognized. Hers was feral; reckless and vile, malicious even; one without any regard for anything else, just plain murder and will to win. His was something else, though. For his survival, sure. But there was something, one that she cannot place. One that she knows deep in her heart but had forgotten after being alone for three years.

“Daddy?”

The sudden voice made her look towards the door. There was a child; a toddler, hiding on the frames of the door. She gasped, eyes wide as she stared down on this little girl’s Daddy who was bleeding right between his eyes. In that instant, she knew what the ferocity in his gaze meant – the one that she had forgotten. They were both threats to each other, strangers with the highest propensity for murder. But unlike her, he wasn’t going to murder her just because. He was just trying to protect.  
She is despicable. 

No adrenaline or the slightest motivation to survive remained. With it, even her physical strength disappeared. She dropped her knife, trembling in shame. 

She wouldn’t blame him, not really, if he decides to pull the trigger. 

But he didn’t. Instead, from her peripheral, she saw his left hand curl, hurling immediately straight towards her face. 

Why didn’t he pull the trigger when he had every reason to, she wondered? Was her theory about the gun being empty was correct after all?

Or – 

“Too fucking soft, Daddy –“ she smirked before she blacked out.


End file.
